poem painting Zohreh Khaleghi
Being by our names
Being in sphere of bold seasons
Papers turn green
On a Persian rug
As you write-
Flowering spring
Where we cross
And still stay with us.
Once upon a word
Bones burned
But did not dust
In the wind
Under the earth
Earth became fire
And wave
In flames.
That is what poetry is.
4 Moj Magazine 2
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